


The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

by theherocomplex



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-23 16:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherocomplex/pseuds/theherocomplex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Night Vale, nothing is as it seems.</p><p>Which sounds great and poetic, but when you’re trying to date someone who never looks the same from one day to the next, it’s more than a little annoying.</p><p>Ask Carlos. He would know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pearwaldorf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/gifts).



In Night Vale, nothing is as it seems.

Which sounds great and poetic, but when you’re trying to date someone who never looks the same from one day to the next, it’s more than a little annoying.

Ask Carlos. He would know.

***

His first day in Night Vale goes by quickly.

Carlos splits off from the rest of the team when it comes time to apartment-hunt. No one comments beyond a nod and a wave. They know, after five years of working together, that Carlos like his space.

He also likes his own kitchen, his own parking space, and his own laboratory. He finds all of these things in one apartment, which sits next to a wildy over-crowded pizza place. Carlos makes a mental note to try it out – though four years in New York and three in Chicago means his standards for pizza are pretty high.

The landlord is a tall, skinny man who never takes his hands out of his pockets, not even after Carlos waits for thirty-seven seconds for a handshake. Carlos tucks his hands away and nods politely, a bit off-balance, as the landlord details the amenities in an unpunctuated, high-pitched monotone.

“All utilities included heat hot water electricity wireless internet washer dryer on-site parking in back pool closed till further notice because of sentient poison ivy.”

“Oh, right, okay,” Carlos says with a laugh. The landlord watches him without expression. Carlos stops laughing.

“So, would it be possible to rent month-to-month?” Carlos asks, when the silence has stretched out long enough to make him wonder if he just stumbled across a town-wide taboo. It’s happened before. “I move around a lot. For science. Science reasons."

The landlord breaks into an unexpected and wonderful smile. “No problem,” he says around the smile. It’s odd, considering that his voice never gains any inflection. “But I think you’ll want to stay.” Before Carlos can reply, the landlord produces a key and presses it into Carlos’ hand.

“Try Big Rico’s pizza. Nobody does a slice like Big Rico’s. _Nobody._ ”

“Right,” says Carlos. He tries to tug his hand away from the landlord’s, but the man leans in, very close. Carlos takes a step back on reflex, and his landlord follows.

 _“Nobody,”_ says his landlord. “Enjoy your stay. Yell if you need anything. I’ll hear.”

He leaves Carlos on the sidewalk.

The key vibrates in Carlos’ hand.

Much later, after he’s already put his clothes in the closet and his towels in the bathroom, Carlos realizes there’s a radio in the corner of his bedroom.

The radio has eyes, and it is speaking.

 _“Welcome to Night Vale,”_ says the radio.

***

The radio isn’t talking to him, not directly. It’s not looking at him either.

It is, however, talking _about_ him.

Lost and bewildered, Carlos listens to the smooth, butterscotch-colored voice that pours out of the radio. No one has ever called his hair perfect before. No one has ever called him beautiful before.No one has ever said he had teeth like a military cemetery before.

He flushes a little at that. Has it really been so long since he’s gotten a compliment that one about his teeth makes him blush? And just who is it that owns this candy-coated, dark-chocolate morsel of a voice? When did they see him?

Carlos’ reflection regards him steadily from the warped mirror above the dresser. Inside the broken wooden frame, he sees the brush of grey at his temples, the fine weathered wrinkles at his eyes and mouth, and the collar of the lab coat he (yet again) forgot to take off.

It’s not an ugly face, but it’s not remarkable. It’s done him well enough in the past. When he wants to communicate, it helps shape words and expressions that get his point across. Before today, Carlos never considered his face as more than a useful tool. He never realized it could give someone pleasure. At least, not indirectly.

“...and I fell in love immediately,” says the summer-night, sea-air voice.

Carlos blinks at the radio. It blinks back.

 _Time for dinner_ , he decides.

***

His waitress at Big Rico’s seems to be leaking a substance that his brain can only describe as _liquid diamonds._

“Want dried red peppers on your slice? Lemon in your water?” she asks, through the constant stream from her eyes and ears. Carlos shakes his head, and as the waitress walks away, he surreptitiously pulls out half the napkins in the dispenser to wipe off the table.

He _tries_ to wipe off the table. _Liquid diamonds_ was not too fanciful a term, because the substance coating the table has hardened into a glittering, impenetrable layer. Carlos balls up the napkins and tries not to stare at the table. He tries not to stare at anything except his own two hands, which are clenched into tight fists in his lap.

“Here you go!” says his waitress. Carlos jumps and cringes away from her. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “One slice of Big Rico’s famous stuffed-crust pizza! Nobody does a slice like Big Rico’s!”

“ _Nobody_ ,” intones the entire restaurant.

“Thank you,” says Carlos in a whisper. The waitress winks and spins away, swinging her hips as she makes her way back to the kitchen, shedding perfect diamond tears at every step. Carlos prods his pizza with a fork, then cuts a tiny piece and lifts it to his mouth.

He chews. He chews some more. He tries to ignore the fact that everyone in the restaurant is staring at him. Some of them don’t appear to be breathing.

He chews a few more times, tasting the pizza in every corner of his mouth.

He closes his eyes.

When he opens his eyes, there’s someone sitting across from him in the booth: a man neither short nor tall, fat nor thin. His hair is black and brushed into a perfect imitation of a coxcomb. In ignorance or defiance of the weather and the desert surrounding them, the man is wearing a long-sleeved shirt, a sweater vest, and a leather jacket.

He is beautiful, and his eyes are kind.

“Carlos,” the man breathes. “Perfect Carlos.” He reaches a hand across the table, beaming. “I’m Cecil.”

Carlos forgets to swallow his mouthful of pizza. He wants to shake this man’s hand, he truly does, but he’s too amazed to think.

“You’re my radio,” he says, through the pizza, and immediately regrets it. He swallows and reaches out as quickly as he can and shakes Cecil’s hand.

A heartbeat later, he yelps and pulls his hand away. Cecil watches him mildly, a smile of incredible sweetness spilling across his face. His hand stays posed in mid-air, waiting for Carlos to reach out again and finish their handshake.

In the center of Cecil’s palm, there is a tiny, perfect mouth, ringed by pouty lips and filled with sharp, translucent teeth. It had kissed Carlos' hand. With tongue.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” says Cecil, his smile ever-growing.

***

The pizza, coincidentally, is the best Carlos has ever eaten.

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to [sonatine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sonatine) for getting me into WtNV to begin with and for whom, in large part, this is being written. I don't know where this is going, but because it's WtNV, I'm sure it's going to be somewhere awful yet lovely. And it will all be her fault.


End file.
